For these fools of men and their woes care not thou at all! They feel little; what is, is balanced by weak joys; but ye are my chosen ones.
Fools of men – that is, worldly men, men of society, church goers, good citizens, average men, Rotarians, babbitts; their woes attendant upon their folly. The conflict of their desires, vanity, ambition, money, power, fame, the monkey morals, the barnyard babtistry.
They feel little – they are little, petty in mind, petty in spirit, puny in their pilfering, rabbity in their rutting habits, their love a piddling perversion of a castrated biological urge, seasoned with saccharine sin and slop bucket sentimentality.
While displaying an abject ass-licking servility to their superiors, they manifest all the feeble ferocity of a yahoo towards anything showing any difference in mentality, color, or physiognomy, so long as that thing be bound, chained, and completely hopeless.
A $10 raise, a model home, kiddies, a crack at somebody weaker, a bit of gossip, and accident, something newer and shinier than someone else has, weddings, funerals —
but ye are my chosen ones.